


Jeeves takes the Low Road

by Kahvi, Roadstergal



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/F, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ginger Winship sends an urgent summons to his home in Edinburgh, none is more surprised than Bertie Wooster, not least because the last time he heard, Ginger resided in Glasgow. Ever one to rally 'round his friends in a time of need, Bertie none the less sets off. What follows is a right old soupy mess of weddings, bespoke tailoring, Scottish poetry, jealousy, bridge and the psychology of the individual. </p><p>A stand-alone sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/214305">Ginger and the Rum Confession</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You must know the song; bonnie bonnie banks, true love et cetera; the upshot of which is that should person A avail themselves of the higher thoroughfare, said person should arrive in Scotland some time after person B, the erstwhile narrator. For all that Jeeves goes on about the poet Burns, he can't know much about the ancient songs of the Gaelic, considering the events that transpired last summer in Edinburgh. Ah, but once again I'm getting ahead of myself. 'Wooster', you may well ask, 'what's all this talk of high roads and poets and travelling valets, presuming that is to which you are referring?' To this I can but offer a sympathetic sigh, and urge the reader's patience. It all began, as such things often do, with a telegram.

It was a stifling hot July morning, that I do remember; possibly a Thursday. I had all but finished that mornings ablutions, and was just beginning to anticipate the elights of a well-toasted piece of toast, amply marmelladed, accompanied by one of Jeeves's masterfully poached eggs, when the latter - Jeeves, I mean to say, not the eggs - materialized in his usual, uncanny way, carrying a telegram.

"Telegram for you, sir," he explained, by ways of explanation.

"A telegram, Jeeves?"

"Just so, sir."

"Well, read it, man!"

And he did. That's where it all went wrong, rather.

* * *

Cherchez la femme, they say; French people mostly, I suppose. In my experience however, women aren't all that hard to find. It's avoiding them that's the problem, hence my old school chum Ginger moving to Glasgow with his tailor. Not for any lack of proper clothiers in Scotland, I hasten to add, but due to the fact that he and this tailor chap - one Charles Lieberman - had something of an understanding. Gentlemen readers will know what I mean; perhaps the less said, the better. Still, it will be rather difficult to go on with this narrative unless the nature of their relationship is fully understood, so I should ask any sensitive readers to skip ahead to the next paragraph, should they wish to avoid any salient details. In which case, I would ask them to skip ahead _here_. Now: the fact to which I am alluding is that the love between Ginger and this Lieberman was of the Greek sort, by which I mean Eros as well as Agape. They shared, if I must be blunt, both a bed and their happy lives, and truth be told I've rarely seen a couple better suited for one another. Pun somewhat intended, I must admit.

Those among you with delicate sensibilities may now continue reading.

I mentioned the telegram, did I not? It was, at it happens, from good old Ginger, hence this nessecary digression. It would seem that he and 'Charlie', as he insisted I call his intended - if such a word is applicable when the couple in question may not marry - were biffing off to Edinburgh for reasons not outlined in the telegram. This I knew, for I asked Jeeves to read it twice.

"Is that wise, sir?"

"Wise, Jeeves?"

"One cannot help but feel, sir, that the information was satisfactorily dissemminated on first reading. Making a second attempt might cloud what meaning we have already uncovered, sir."

"Don't talk nonsense, Jeeves; do read it again."

"Yes, sir. Very well, sir."

And so he did.

" _What ho, Bertie - STOP - Charlie doing dashed well - STOP - Do join us in Edinburgh for fortnight - STOP - Bring Jeeves_ "

"Bring Jeeves?" I frowned.

"So it appears to say, sir."

"Well, what it does not appear to say, Jeeves, is _why?_ "

To this, Jeeves merely inclinded his head, but his meaning was clear; my man shared my sense of foreboding. Whenever Jeeves is called for, you see, there is usually some underlying problem for which the summoner requires aid. Though I myself enjoy his company for its own sake, such is rarely the case with my friends and relations. In short, we questioned the spirit with which this invitation was being issued.

For a moment, we shared a knowing glance.

"Shall I pack, sir?"

I sighed, waving him off, and incidentally, some of the soapy water surrounding the corpus. "I expect you must."

* * *

Have you ever been to Scotland? In general, it is a lush, lovely greenish brown sort of place, with charming little villages and bustling cities filled to the brim with steeples and towers and castles and closes, which is a type of narrow little street through which you go to emerge at an entirely different location than you intended. A handful of miles or so outside said c. l. v. and b. c. however, it is mostly grass, hills and sheep. The same, in my experience, can be said for Wales and Irleand, and most of the North of England. What anyone could bally well want with all that wool is beyond me, nor could I imagine mutton being in such demand. They do brighten up the things, and as I watched them from my compartment, the cheery sight helped distract me from the fact that I was currently _sans_ Jeeves. 

I should probably explain; Jeeves, you see, suffers from allergies. I realize this might come as a shock to regular readers, accustomed as they would be to a view of the man as near godlike, but let me assure you; Jeeves, like the rest of us, is merely mortal, succumbing now and then to a case of the sniffles. It was news to me, but seeing the miserable look on the poor man's face as he asked to be allowed to follow a day later, I challenge anyone to deny him. 

And thus, it was arranged; I would take the eleven-thirteen on Friday, and Jeeves would follow on the seven-fifty on the Saturday, being, by nature, an early riser. Of course, this is where the song comes in, and had either one of us paid more than passing attention to it, we might have been forewarned. Certainly Jeeves should, though I have been educated in the classics myself, and make no excuses. 

You see, as I emerged from the train into the station, I immedately noticed something wrong. The first sign was the lack of an actual station house, the nearest equivalent being a sort of shed by the platform. The second, and I hesitate to bring this up again, was the excess of sheep wandering about. A rather befuddled conversation with a station attendant ("Where did the station go?" "What station?" "Waverly! Waverly station!" "That's in Edinburgh, sir." "Yes, isn't it?" "Isn't it what?" "Edinburgh?" "Isn't Edinburgh what, sir?" And so on) unravelled the truth; it would appear that Jeeves would arrive in Scotland afore me.

* * *

Perhaps you're wondering what happened. Well, so was I! I knew I must have boarded the correct train - with Jeeves in tow there is no risk of doing otherwise - and had, in due course, had my ticket inspected with no incident. Said ticket had been bought by Jeeves, making it impossible for the error to lie there. Nevertheless, I had to submit to the fact that here I was, almost, but not quite in Nottingham, with a train that was returning to London. Had I been aware of that fact, of course, I wouldn't have left the blasted thing, but I had been rather too preoccupied with finding out where it was that I was, to even begin to consider my options for not being wherever it was that I was anymore. But such was the case, and as I stood there (wherever there was), scratching my head, the train rolled away from the station. And, like a fool, I let it. Minutes later, when I made my way into the station house - or shed - I began to see the error of my ways. 

"Do you mean to tell me there are no trains heading into Edinburgh or London until tomorrow afternoon?"

"That's right, sir."

"But trains run practically every minute between London and Edinburgh!"

The man shrugged, as if the finer details of British rail schedules were beyond his concern. "Hardly any stop here, sir. That's all I can say." 

"I see," I said. To this, he had no comment. I walked around the station house for a moment or two, weighing my options. There were, I found, not many. 

"Is there," I asked, "anything like a decent hotel nearby?"

"There's the Pig and Orchard, sir. Or Pork and Apple, as we calls it. For the pies, you see, sir."

The word "pie" settled what confusion and annoyance had not; I asked for directions immediately. 

 

* * *

No less than two hours later, I was standing in a copse outside what could charitably be described as a village. I had lost count of the number of times I had given up one of my patent leather shoes to the underbrush and had been forced to recover it, to the point where both were now more mud than shoe, it obviously having rained quite heavily some time previously. Indeed the roads were still wet here, if roads were an applicable word. The _Pig and Orchard_ loomed ahead like a mirage, and I stumbled towards it. 

The inside was much as you'd expect of these little country inns, complete with sturdy wooden reception desk and requisite sturdy wooden, if charitable, host behind it. I enquired about a telephone, for it was drawing late, and Jeeves is one to retire early the night before a trip. I met with little success. 

"Telephone's not working, sir. Not in this weather."

"Weather? Has lightning struck?" 

This was met with a morose shaking of the head. "Too much wind. Pole tends to fall down, and that it did, not half an hour ago." 

"Did it."

"Yessir."

"Then I shall need to send a telegram."

"Office is closed, sir."

"Well, have the message sent 'round first thing in the morning."

"That'll be in the afteroon, then. Tomorrow's Sunday, sir."

By which time Jeeves would already have left. Damn and blast it all! 

"Never mind," I said, resigning myself to the duller comforts of ale and pie. Fortunately, of this, there was plenty. Moreover, the bed with which I was provided was soft and warm, and soon I was happily in the arms of Morpheus.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't know if you've ever woken with the distinct feeling that you've forgotten something? This I did the following morning, and spent a distracted breakfast trying to nudge the old noggin into remembering it. Breakfast, it should be said, consisted of cold eggs and toast more on the soggy side than is preferable, with not a rasher or link of anything pork-like in evidence. Had there been marmellade, I might have endured, but there was not, and I had just about finished the last, miserable morsel when the clock struck eleven rather loudly, and I realized that I had not asked at which specific point in the afternoon the train to Edinburgh arrived, and more importantly, when it left, which is generally shortly after the former. I rushed to the front desk and rang the bell vigorously until a pale-looking, disintersted girl arrived to inform me that the Sunday timestables had changed, but of this there was no written record, and the girl's memory was laxer than mine. I was about to ask her to telephone the station when I remembered, and rushed instead to my little room to gather my sparse belongings. I did not glare; a gentleman tries not to.

It was a good thing Ginger had taken up with an excellent tailor, I reflected on arriving at the station, as I would surely need to replace my travelling tweeds. The underbrush had done its worst once again, and of my shoes there remained little to speak of. They were reasonably shoe-shaped, and that was about all that could be said for them. I supposed there were shoe shops in Endinburgh as well. My timing, as it turned out, was impeccable, as the hour had barely struck twelve when the train to Edinburgh rolled in. I had barely time to purchase a ticket before hopping on and breathing a the proverbial sigh of relief.

With the comfort of a quiet compartment and a few hours journey ahead, I allowed the mind to wander. What could be Ginger's predicament? There would be one, of this I was certain; otherwise, why would he have asked for Jeeves? One gets used to, when having Jeeves in one's employ, the fact that many a social visit or kindly invitation is merely a pretext for the privilege of a little one-on-one time with the man's fish-fed brain. Had our roles been reversed, and I had found myself arriving before Jeeves, I may well have found myself facing a cold shoulder, if a cold shoulder is something one can face. I could not blame Ginger; the life he had chosen, attaching himself for life to a man who could not return his affections in public for fear of landing them both in prison, and then having to move to Glasgow to boot! Perhaps, I reasoned, the move to Edinburgh was the connundrum with which he needed help? It is, after all, no easy business for a pair of birds who are secretly, as it were, turtle doves, to find lodgings exactly to their liking. One never knew with neighbours, and I had heard many a chilling story told in caution of thin walls and insufficient curtains. I nodded at the passing moors and hills, certain that I had gotten it right. Yes, this was surely the case. What luck to have Jeeves! I leaned back in my chair, and if I dozed gently for an hour or so, what of it?

* * *

The train's whistle woke me, and just in time; one always hopes to avoid the embarrassment of being stirred by a porter. This, I noted with relief, glancing out the window, was unmistakeable Waverly, and hence Edinburgh. The station thrummed with the happy hustle and bustle of a late Sunday afternoon, and I greeted it eagerly.

I was met by Barnesworth, Ginger's - and now Lieberman's, I supposed - man, arriving in their rather spiffy motorcar. I don't know much about these things, that's more Tuppy Glossop's line, but I could see that this was a far newer and better model than the old Wooster two-seater, fond of it as I was. I made those little appreciative noises one makes; _oooh_ -ing and _aaah_ -ing and so forth as I entered the vehicle, while Barnesworth safely placed my bags in the appropriate compartment. Like most valets you meet, Barnesworth was not one for talking. Jeeves can be an exception in this manner, if you know how to get him get him going properly. Sometimes I think the man could talk all day if I'd let him. I seldom do. The thought of Jeeves made me stop to wonder where the man might be. He had Ginger's address, of course, but what with all the hullaballoo, I could not help but worry if all had gone well. It occurred to me that I could ask Barnesworth, and so I did:

"I say, Barnesworth?"

"Sir?"

"Has Jeeves arrived, by any chance?"

"Your man, sir? Yes, sir."

My man. Perhaps it was the situation, what with everything I'd gone through, but I'm not ashamed to say the words were consoling. "Jolly good," I exclaimed, moved.

"He arrived some hours previously and arranged for me to meet you, sir."

This gave me pause. I had not considered the fact that Ginger could not have known about my arrival ahead of time, and thus could not possibly have arranged for me to be picked up. Jeeves, however, was another matter entirely. It is impossible to put anything past the man. I feel certain that when Death arrives at his door - rue the day! - Jeeves will be standing by with light refreshments, or depending on his mood and the general circumstances I suppose, a blunt instrument. "Jolly good," I said, and meant it.

* * *

We made our way into the Old Town; somewhat laboriously, the area generally not being one for the modern motorcar. This, I was told in the sparse words of Barnesworth, was where young Ginger and his man - not Barnesworth, of course; the man in his heart, I meant to say - had taken up residence in a flat above what they were hoping to be their first establishment in Edinburgh, right along the Royal Mile. My correspondance with Ginger had faltered of late, but in the few enthusiastic letters he had exchanged with me, he had made it plain how well Lieberman's business was doing in Glasgow.

Perhaps I should explain for readers not in the know; this Lieberman, one Charles Esq., had a particular knack. Or rather, two particular knacks; one for equisite tailoring, and one for speaking the plain truth in no uncertain terms. His conversation was revered among the regulars at the Drones Club, wherein could be found his most loyal customers, and consisted mostly of expletives, which I found myself having to delete when rendering the man's speech onto the written page. In plain English, of which the man was a champion, Charles Lieberman was as famous for his insults as he was for his craftsmanship, and the latter was highly praised. Getting "Lieberman'd" had become quite the fashion among London high society of late - quite literally, I suppose - and apparently he had fared just as well among the Scots. I was, in matter of fact, wearing a waistcoat of his design this very day, and it occurred to me with some amount of horror as I mounted the stairs to their apartments, that my sorjourn in the woods had not been kind to it. I dreaded Lieberman's reaction.

As it happened, I needed not have worried. Greeting me in a cosy set of rooms was none other than Ginger, looking fit and handsome, if not bronzed; one cannot expect too much, when living in the highlands.

"Ginger!" I exclaimed, embracing him like a long lost brother.

"Bertie!" He said in kind, returing the favor.

And so we stood, momentarily, that awkward point in a reunion occuring when one doesn't quite know how to end the preliminaries. I ended up uttering a quiet 'what ho', patting his back, and we disengaged, both somewhat embarrassed. "Where is Jeeves," I asked. It was something with which to start the conversation, and furthermore, I wondered where Jeeves had got to.

"He's in Glasgow."

"Glasgow?" I asked, somewhat petulantly. I will admit that I had grown rather weary of all these unnessecary complications surrounding Scottish cities.

"Yes. With Charlie."

"What's he doing in Glasgow with Charlie?"

"Getting ready for the wedding, of course!"

After a number of years spent avoiding that otherwise most holy state of matrimony, that particular word never fails to send shivers down my spine. "Wedding," I asked, with caution.

Ginger gasped. "Good heavens, Bertie; I thought you knew!"

I pondered. Should I have known? There does quite often occur, I must admit, situations in which I find myself lacking information that should not have been lacking, and this might well, judging by Ginger's astonished mug, be one of them. I decided to simply agree, and see where things went from there. They usually sort themselves out as I go along. "Oh yes," I hooted, as is my wont in these situations, "the wedding! Of course; of course."

Ginger thus mollified, we wandered off to slake our thirst. I could not but help wonder, however, _whose_ wedding it was.

* * *

It is remarkable how easy it can be to lose oneself in the joy of pleasant company, and so it was with Ginger and myself. Though I cannot speak for Ginger, of course, your erstwhile narrator lost all sense of place and time as we whiled away the hours with the easy banter of boyhood friends seeing one another again for the first time in months. Not that Ginger and I were ever quite boys together, but you know what I mean. Ginger related the ups and downs of their business venture - and it seemed there were downs as well as ups, regardless of success. He spoke of the difficulties of establishing a name, of finding the right staff, and the dreaded little minutia one so often disregards when seeing these things from the outside. There was quite a lot of talk of ledgers and papers and numbers, to which I nodded my head with the hope I appeared appropriately interested. I really don't have a mind for these things; Jeeves does the accounts in our household. After a time, I had lulled myself into a comfortable sort of doze, when I suddenly noticed that Ginger had stopped speaking about books and finance, having moved on to the subject of beazels. 

"Well, I mean," he said, just as I was stirring myself, "what do you think, Bertie? Is it a good idea?"

"Ah," I chewed my lip thoughtfully. In this case, honesty was, perhaps, the best policy. "Afraid I didn't quite catch that, Ginger old bean." 

"Mary," Ginger repeated, with great patience. "The girl." 

I nodded in agreement that this was, to the best of my knowledge, a girl's name. 

"And her predicament. That was, after all, why I asked Jeeves here." 

"Was it?"

"Good Lord, man! Has Jeeves not told you?"

I explained, somewhat testily, I will admit, that I had not seen Jeeves for quite some time. Going on days now, in fact. This mollified him, and his brow soothed. 

"Well, you know about the wedding, at least."

I nodded. "You told me about the wedding. Though not in any great detail."

"I assumed you knew. Well, there you have it; she is the bride."

"Oh yes," I said, hoping against all hope that I was, for once, not to be the husband. 

"All for show, of course; rather a clever arrangement, I thought. She gets a husband, and gets to live on with her Annie." 

"Annie?" I asked, at the risk of repeating myself. 

He fixed his eye on me. "Yes. Her _actual_ intended, as it were. Though there can never be more than intention, this being the crux of the matter."

The proverbial shales fell from my eyes. "Of course," I exclaimed, "if she marries..."

"Exactly," Ginger agreed, seeming relieved that the aforementioned s. had f. and that all was clear. "No one will be the wiser."

"And for you and Charlie as well," here I raised a congratulatory toast, "hey ho, pip and dandy to all!"

Ginger appeared nonplussed. "Quite. In time, I suppose."

I nodded in turn, slaking my thirst with the rest of my snifter. Just then, the doorbell sounded.

"Ah," Ginger rose, all a glow, "that will be Jeeves and Charlie!"


	3. Chapter 3

He could not have been more wrong. I suppose he _could_ have been; one might imagine the appearance of a lion tamer with its tame feline in tow, or perhaps one of those fairground strong-men with an oversized mustache, or an Indian Princess or – well, you get the idea. Neither of the aforementioned strode thorugh the door, but the appearance of a tall, blonde and stout-ish girl in the doorway had something of the same effect.

«Mary!» Ginger exclaimed, embracing her at once. «How clever of you to come; this is Bertie, whom I've been telling you so much about.»

She turned a brilliant, rather expensive-looking smile to me, and clasped my hand. «How absolutely lovely to meet you Mr. Wooster,» she thrilled. «The way Harry and Charlie prattle on about you, I rather feel like I know you already.»

«Oh yes,» I said, struggling somewhat with the mental image of Charles Lieberman prattling, «jolly good. Charmed,» I added, realizing I was being rude.

«Charmed?»

«Yes, you know; good to meet you, what ho and all that.»

Mary laughed. «You really are just as Harry said you'd be, Mr. Wooster.»

«Bertie, please.»

«Then you must call me Mary. After all, it's a bit like I'll be joining the family!»

This touched me greatly. That Ginger would think me such a bosom pal that the gal marrying his man – something of a convoluted business if one stopped to think about it for a moment – would think me close enough to be considered family. I made the appropriate chuffed noises to this effect, and I could tell by the intent way in which Ginger was looking at me that he felt something of the same. There then came a jarring and startlingly unexpected sneeze, at which point I realized that there was a fourth person in the room.

«Oh Annie dear,» Mary fussed, «are your allergies still such a bother?»

A short, gingery-auburn creature materalized from behind Mary's sensible skirts. Her face, in particular her nose, was the color of fresh half-time strawberries, though one got the impression that this was mostly by nature, and not through the accident of illness. «I'm fine, really,» this person insisted, tucking an errant curl behind an equally red ear.

«Allergies eh?» I said, tutting in sympathy. «You should have a talk with Jeeves - he suffers from them horribly.»

Mary wrinkled her up-turned nose. «Really? He seemed absolutely fine this morning.»

«There you are then,» I exclaimed; «the man's a miracle worker! Probably scrounged up some remedy on the train with just stale  
sandwiches and tea to aid him.»

«He absolutely is,» said the creature, Annie, one had to assume, «I could never thank him enough for what he's done for us!»

«All in a day's for work the man,» I said, not a little proud. «And  
quite good show on Charlie's part too.»

Mary and Annie exchanged glances. «Yes, rather,» Mary said. «And Ginger too, of course. Good sports, all. But honestly, without Jeeves, we wouldn't have known what to do.»

I nodded, gravely. «So often the way.»

«We did consider casting off for America or France; somewhere they wouldn't have known us, but that would have left Annie thick in the soup. She studies medicine at the University – Edinburgh University.» This was said with pride, and the Annie in question took a step back and blushed even further.

«Going in the footsteps of the great Doctor Watson, eh?»

«You've read Conan Doyle,» Annie thrilled, her cheeks glowing somewhat more healthily.

«Oh, rather!» Jeeves and I have been through the odd adventure ourselves over the years, and sometimes I fancy myself something of a detective myself. Between us, of course, Jeeves takes his share of the Holmesian intellect, while I play the part of adoring and loyal companion. Perhaps some might think that the wrong way round – and indeed, my aunt Agatha has had quite a few words to say on this subject – considering I pay the man's wages, but as I have oft said, I have come to consider the man a friend more than a valet. In fact, there have been times when the latter fact has been pointed out to me – that he's my valet – and I've had to pause to recall it. All this in mind, I beamed cheerfully at the diminuative Annie, who was half my size if she was a foot, and I wouldn't have been at all surprised if she had given her height as precisely that.

«Anyway,» Mary went on, «that's where had the trouble, at Annie's place. There's this boarding house just for young ladies, and well... It's hard for men like Charlie and Harry,» she nodded to Ginger, «but no one usually minds what us girls get up to, on the whole. So, you know, we got a little... indiscrete.»

«It's not your fault, May.»

«It's not anyone's fault, dear, but it happened. And the girl who saw us said she'd report us to the Dean, and it's probably just empty threats, I know but...»

"One can never be too careful." I was suprised at the darkness in Ginger's voice; this was not the man who'd moaned over having to find matching napkins in my flat not a year ago. Not that he expected to find matched napkins in my flat, of course - although there are; Jeeves is very particular about that sort of thing - but old Ginger was engaged to Magnolia Glenenden at the time, a business-minded sort of gel who kept sending him up to London on errands large and small. Sometimes I wonder if the match would not have been ill-fated even if Ginger had never needed to have a new waistcoat fitted, which was how he ended up at Lieberman's, but he did, and here we are. This was the voice of a man changed, is to what I am referring.

The mood having fallen somewhat, I tried for a cheery; "so, enter Jeeves to save the day and all that, eh?"

"Exactly! I knew I could trust Harry - our mothers were at school together, you see, and we've always known about one another - and he called for Jeeves, and here we are!"

"And it had to be Mary, you see, because people would think it odd if I got married in the middle of my studies. And of course, Mother would get wind..."

"Mothers can be as bad as aunts," I sympathized.

"Much worse! If Mother knew about Mary, she'd cut my allowance, for a start, so I'd have to leave my studies. I doubt she'd report me to the police - too much of a scandal, but she'd make me move back in and marry some... some fish-faced bird who's never tied his own shoes!"

"Annie's ever so clever; it'd be a shame. I'd support us if I could; we were thinking of moving in together, but now..." The two of them shook their heads, gravely.

The respectful silence was interrupted by Barnesworth. "Excuse me sirs, ma'am," he hesitated at Annie's fleeting form, "young miss; Mr. Lieberman has sent a telegram to announce that he and Mr. Jeeves will be arriving shortly."

Mary squealed in that particular way known only to the recently engaged female, "I have to go! He mustn't see me before the wedding!"

"It isn't that sort of wedding," Annie said, and I detected a hint of the green-eyed monster in her tone.

"That doesn't matter; a wedding is a wedding - come along, dear! So nice to meet you, Bertie! See you, Harry!" And with a wave and a giggle, she was gone.

"We were engaged to be married, once," said Ginger, a-propos.

"What happened?"

Ginger shrugged. "Oh, you know. The usual."

I inclined my head in agreement, for indeed, I did.


End file.
